Starship Challenger
by Sparrow Two
Summary: Two weeks after United Earth declares war on the shadowy entity known only as the Rumulan Star Empire, a new captain takes command of Challenger, Earth's newest Warp Five ship. "Challenger" focuses on the state of humanity and Earth in the 22nd century, and the things people are willing to do to protect home and family.
1. Introduction

**Earth Orbit**  
**19 June 2156**  
**Morning, Shipboard Time**

Orbital Inspection Pod 17, its micrometeorite-pocked skin dark against Earth's gleaming blues and greens, climbed sharply from the Reno Orbital Elevator terminal's ungainly boxlike form. From her vantage point in the pod's left-hand seat, Emily Boylan adjusted her wire-frame eyeglasses and watched the three-fingered drydock grow steadily larger in the forward viewport. Inside the dock, cradled by a web of supply cables and mooring lines, her waiting vessel's sleek saucer and long nacelles glinted in the sunlight that grew ever brighter as the dock completed another orbit around the beautiful blue sphere below.

She nervously drummed her fingers against the armrest's worn fabric and felt her heart in her throat. _My ship_, she thought. It all awaited her: the ship, the crew, the war. It was a stark change to make from the quiet homebound scene she'd left behind in Bangor a few hours ago. The old colonial house's aging floorboards creaked under her boots as she tiptoed into her daughter's bedroom and quietly, wistfully regarded the little girl's sleeping form. With a sigh, she kissed her daughter's cheek, hefted the huge black duffel bag she'd left in the hallway, and eased down the stairs as quietly as she could manage.

Ariane was waiting for her by the front door. She was sleepy-eyed, her long, platinum blonde hair disheveled. The old blue bathrobe hung open, loosely belted around her flowing white nightgown. For a moment, the two women had regarded each other quietly. Then Ariane extended the travel mug in Boylan's direction. Thin wisps of steam rose from the lid, visible in the pale moonlight outside the open door.

"Nicaraguan, _ma chérie_," Ariane said quietly, and managed a smile, "real, not synthesized."

Boylan took a step closer and gently wrapped a hand around the mug and her wife's fingers. Briefly, she puzzled over the best thing to say, but then gave up with a sigh and met Ariane's gaze.

"Em," Ariane said slowly, "Good luck."

"Thanks," Boylan replied with a tired smile, "I'm gonna need it."

Just as Boylan started to move back, Ariane stopped her with her other hand. "Em," she said, her expression firm, "Earth has made enough dead heroes for a few millenia. You had _better_ come back."

_You had better come back..._

The shuttlepod's little engine surged as it made the final bit of climb till it was level with the drydock. With her wife's gaze still piercing in her mind's eye, Boylan pulled out a PADD from her thigh pocket, pressed the "record" button, and began to speak in a firm, steady tone.

"_Captain's Starlog, June 19, 2156. 0846 hours. Aboard inspection pod Orbital 17 and on final approach. The drydock's in view, and I can feel my heart in my throat. The ship and crew are ready, and I hope I am too. Jon Archer and Erika Hernandez are a hard act to follow, but I'm sure gonna give this job all I've got…_"


	2. Chapter 1

**From**: Ariane Godard  
**To**: Emily J. Boylan, CPT UE-SF  
**Date**: 19 June 2156, 1031 EDT  
**Subject**: Bon Voyage

Ma Chère Emily: I can hardly believe you're gone. Katie's playing starship captain downstairs, and I'm sitting here catching up on correspondence. Same as always, but there's a gap now, where you belong. The families from your crew…our crew…have already started to write me. You're not going far, I know, but with the war on, everyone's on edge, as if you were going as far as Archer and Hernandez have gone.

I've been in touch with Chef Sisko, and by now, you should have found the first of some surprises I've planned. Being family readiness officer has offered some perks.

As I write this, United Sol News is saying that there's been an attack on Berengaria. Information's still incoming but…_mon dieu, _the entire starbase…

Stay safe out there, Em. Keep those Rumulan wolves away.

_Je t'embrasse_,  
Ariane

* * *

**San Francisco Yards**

**Earth Orbit**

_Captain's Starlog, Supplemental. Arrived ready room 0942 hours. Now awaiting arrival of my first officer, who seems to have some kind of problem with me. Am confident we'll overcome this rough patch and get things sorted out._

Six foot even, square face stubbly from two sleepless days of last-minute dockyard work, Commander Fred Stiles marched along the corridor and on into the turbolift. He fumbled with the turbolift control and half-sputtered out a hurried "Bridge." In a moment, he'd begun to head up from C deck. Taking advantage of the moment's respite, he folded his arms and closed his eyes. There was no more time to procrastinate. He had to go see the captain,.

He still couldn't believe the brass had made this choice. Of all people, a former UESN soldier. The NX class was built for exploration, to carry humanity's dreams ever further into the stars, but here was this soldier, come to turn the new Challenger into a warship. Stiles had heard talk of desperate times, but barely a couple weeks into the war? This had to be setting a record.

The turbolift doors swished open, and Stiles strode out onto the bridge. With the command crew having yet to assemble, there were no immediately familiar faces among those at the myriad stations. He paused at the captain's ready room door, and briefly glanced over the gleaming dedication plaque.

CHALLENGER  
SPACECRAFT NUMBER NX-03  
EMILY J. BOYLAN, COMMANDER

Stiles found himself thinking dark thoughts of enemy action, of a battered bridge and a sudden change in command. Then willing himself to banish such thoughts, he squared his shoulders, nodded to the MACO sentry at the door, and pressed the door chime.

"Enter," came the short reply from within. The doors swished open, and Stiles stepped through into the ready room. A handsome etching of the ship, and its ancient seaborne predecessor, hung on the right-hand wall. To the left, behind her desk, Captain Boylan sat peering intently at red-rimmed glasses at her computer display. Somehow, Stiles felt disappointed: he'd seen pictures, but in person, even with her freshly pressed uniform and NX-03 ballcap, she seemed a bit like a librarian or soccer mom than a hard-bitten UESN veteran. He bit his lip and tried to stifle a chuckle, when suddenly Boylan looked up at him and fixed him with an intense stare.

"Commander," she said smoothly, "good to see you. You look like hell." Stiles noticed what looked like a sandwich, neatly wrapped in wax paper and sitting on Boylan's desk beside a stack of PADDs and a white NX-03 travel mug. A few moments passed before he looked back up at the captain's puzzled expression and launched into some kind of explanation.

"Last minute preparations, ma'am…fresh ordnance for the MACOs, a few dignitaries, you've kept up with the news."

"Yes," Boylan replied with a nod. "I certainly have, Stiles." She stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in the top half of her overalls. "Is everything ready for us to get underway?"

"Just about," Stiles answered smoothly, mentally going over the ship's situation as last he'd checked. "A couple last loads of provisions and engineering gear and we should be good to go."

"Very good," she said with a nod, then folded her arms and turned to regard the spider's web of drydock scaffolding beyond the ready room window. "Stiles," she said his name suddenly, her voice quiet and deadly. "Are we going to…have a problem?"

Oh shit, he thought. "No. No ma'am. No we won't, ma'am."

"Good," she replied, her voice turning somewhat maternal. She turned back to face him, slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Very good. Now go get cleaned up. We shove off at 1100." She gestured graciously toward the door. "Dismissed."

Wind knocked from his proverbial sails, Stiles meekly saluted, then turned on his heel and stumbled back to the bridge.

"Damn," he said, rubbing his eyes as he made for the turbolift. "This is gonna be a long patrol."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**  
**Bangor, Maine**

Ariane Godard switched off her tablet and stood up from the kitchen table to stretch. The sun shone warm and bright through the kitchen windows. The cracked brown mug on the old mahogany table looked strangely lonesome, the coffee only half-finished and long since gone cold. The sky was brilliant blue beyond the evergreens. Somewhere beyond the trees, the sky, and everything, Em was getting ready to take her new ship into action.

There was nowhere Godard needed to be today, but she'd gotten dressed all the same. Her blue striped blouse was neatly ironed, and her black jeans— the ones Em called "mom jeans"— were perfectly pressed. Godard glanced over at the wall mirror by the hallway door. A pair of titanium wire hoops, a memento from a recent visit to Armstrong City on Luna, swung gently from her earlobes as she turned her head. Only Godard's eyes betrayed her exhaustion. After she'd seen Em off, she'd been unable to get much sleep. The coffee had helped, but only a bit.

She couldn't stop thinking of Berengaria. Em's patrol was supposed to be a show of force more than a direct combat deployment, but Berengaria was close, only just beyond Alpha Centauri. There was no telling where the invisible Rumulan enemy might strike next.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. A blur of motion burst into the kitchen, all arms and legs and exploding noises.

"Lock target ensign! Give them Rumulans a taste of the cold steel!"

Godard smiled at the sight of her daughter, toy _Intrepid_-class ship in hand, as she turned around the kitchen island. For all that abundance of energy, Godard loved watching Katrine— or Katie, as Em liked to call her— at play. There was something of Em in that energy, and those bright, searching eyes.

"Katrine, _ma chérie_," Godard called to her. The little girl paused, eyes lost beneath the NX-03 cap Em had left as a parting gift. "Let's call a truce to the war effort and watch Momma's ship launch, _d'accord_?"

"D'accord, Maman!" Katrine nodded her her head enthusiastically and bounded over to the chair beside Godard's. _Mon dieu_, Godard thought, as she considered her wife's crew preparing to head out, _if it's like mother like daughter, they'd better keep up_. Smiling to herself, she retrieved a juice box from the silver-toned refrigerator. As soon as she'd turned back around, she found Katrine already working her tablet and switching it to the United Sol video stream.

"This is Gannet Brooks," said the red-haired reporter onscreen, "reporting live from San Francisco Yards, where we're awaiting the launch of Challenger, the newest NX class starship." As Godard took her seat and handed over the juice box to Katrine, she saw Em's ship behind the reporter, suspended in the spacedock's cradle. Brooks' image shifted to the screen's left, making way for an informational graphic. Video footage of Enterprise and Columbia, Challenger's sister ships, played in rapid, short clips. "With the exploits of Enterprise and Columbia well known, their new sister ship has some big shoes to fill." The full screen gave way to a view of the ship from inside the spacedock. Katrine's eyes grew wide with delight at the sight of the ship.

"And…it seems we've got word from the ship's comm officer. Yes, viewers, standby. We give you Captain Emily Boylan, live from Challenger's bridge…"


	4. Interstitial: Declaration of War

DECLARATION OF WAR

_Palais de la Concorde, City of Paris, Tuesday, the First day of June, 2156._

**Resolution Declaring that a State of War Exists Between the Romulan Star Empire and the Government and People of United Earth and its Colonies and Making Provisions to Prosecute the Same**

Whereas the Romulan Star Empire has declared war against the government and people of United Earth and its colonies, and has engaged in treacherous, unprovoked action towards the same end: therefore be it resolved by representatives of United Earth and its colonies in Parliament assembled, that a state of war exists between United Earth and her colonies, and the Romulan Star Empire. The President of the United Earth government is hereby authorized and directed to deploy the entire space, air, and ground forces of United Earth and the resources of the same government to carry on war against the Romulan Star Empire. To bring the conflict to a successful termination, all of the resources of the country are hereby pledged by the Parliament of United Earth.

(signed) Nathan Samuels, Prime Minister of United Earth  
(signed) Haroun al-Rashid, Interior Minister  
(signed) Thomas Vanderbilt, Defense Minister

Approved 1 June 2156, 14:34 UTC  
(signed) Lydia Littlejohn, President of United Earth


	5. Chapter 3

Author's note: This scene, especially the latter bits of it, is best read while listening to _White Ash, _by The Pillows, which I've adopted as the unofficial _Starship Challenger _theme.

**Chapter 3**  
**United Earth Starfleet Oath of Office**

_I, (name), having been commissioned an officer in the United Earth Starfleet, do solemnly swear that I will obey the Constitution and exemplify the People of United Earth as my species journeys boldly into space, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to my crew; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter._

* * *

**Aboard U.E.S. Challenger (NX-03)**  
**Earth Orbit**

At the signal from her new comm officer, Boylan rose from the command chair. The vista outside the viewport was the starfield beyond spacedock, but Boylan knew that the communications cameras were carrying her face to millions of viewers across all of humanity's habitations in the system and beyond. She briefly glanced about the bridge at her new crew. Most of them she only knew from personnel rosters thus far, but time would change that.

Breathing deeply, Boylan squared her shoulders and began to speak.

"Citizens of United Earth, valued allies, honored comrades, dear friends and family. I'm Emily Boylan, and I've been chosen to command Challenger. You've watched two NX class ships come together in the skies over Earth before, and they've each gone off to great things amid much fanfare." She paused, briefly glanced at the deck plating, then looked back up. "That's not happening today. No champagne, no mission of exploration. We're a people at war, and I've been entrusted with Challenger for one great purpose: defending our home turf." She turned and nodded to her comm officer, who transmitted a preapproved set of graphics from Starfleet's Public Affairs branch. "What you're seeing is footage from Home Task Force Resolute. In the wake of the Xindi Attacks, the forming of the Coalition, and now the Rumulan provocation that has erupted into open war, Command has decided to keep a robust force on our doorstep. You've probably heard by now of the attack on Berengaria; this should make our mission all the more relevant and timely. Challenger, with its speed and firepower, will be the task force's star." Boylan paused again, and removed the monogrammed ballcap she'd worn since coming aboard. There was a muffled gasp that rippled across the bridge at the sight of a pink highlight in her strawberry-blonde hair.

Boylan smiled, thinking of her daughter: the highlight was their little secret.

"Any Rumulan," she said, slightly tilting back her head, "who crosses this ship, or its task force, will be in for a rude awakening. We will act swiftly and decisively against any attack against our home system, against Alpha Centauri, or against any Allied ship traffic in the region. The time for words is long past. It is time for deeds." Eyes still fixed on the viewscreen, she heard the chime from the comm station as the channel closed.

Boylan exhaled a long, deflated sigh, and settled back into her command chair. Unlike previous NX-class command chairs, hers had a right-hand side situation display on a swivel mount. There was more to do, or so Boylan thought, than be a spectator on a wartime vessel.

"Captain," the comm officer said, tapping a finger to her headset as she gave Boylan a reassuring smile. "Well done." Boylan looked up as she readjusted the cap over her hair. El-Khoury, the captain thought, mentally reaching for the relevant name from the crew roster. Ensign Sahar El-Khoury. American University of Beirut. Graduate work in dialectology. Her words had a smooth flow to them, and a slight tinge of Levantine accent.

"Thanks, Ensign." Boylan took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and steepled her fingers. "Lieutenant Paris," she called out to the sandy-haired helmsman. "What's the word from the dockmaster?"

"We're ready and clear to depart, ma'am," he replied, fingers dancing over the helm controls as he made ready to fly. Boylan had noted the flying experience in his file with some interest: the man had flown seemingly everything he could get his hands on, but most interestingly, he'd owned, and flown, an old P-51 Mustang.

"Alright," Boylan nodded, "Away all moorings, detach umbilicals."

"Aye," he answered, keying in the appropriate commands. "Moorings away. Umbilicals detached."

"Take us out," Boylan ordered, and leaned back in her chair. "Ahead thrusters at one quarter."

"One quarter, aye." The spacedock's spindly embrace gave way to the blackness of open space. At last, after months of paperwork, training, and packing, the time was here. Boylan could hear all the ship's little sounds: the beeping of control panels, the quiet conversation of officers and crew at workstations, the gentle throb of building speed through the deck plating.

"Captain," Paris announced, "We're free and clear. Awaiting further instruction."

"Mister Paris," she replied, "Lay in a course for the rendezvous point in the Oort Cloud." She glanced across the bridge, at the hum of activity of this ship, her ship, about to take flight, doing her best to freeze it in her mind's eye.

"Aye captain," Paris called out, "Course plotted and laid in."

"Max warp," Boylan ordered, a smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. "Hit it."


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Yankee Station**  
**Oort Cloud, 50,000 AU from Sol**

With a brilliantly blinding flash, Challenger came screaming out of its brief warp jump from Earth. Its Alcubierre wave— the displacement made by any warp field— parted the haze of ice, frozen ammonia, and stray rock that was the Oort Cloud. The ships of Task Force Resolute— mostly brand-new Block III Intrepid-class destroyers— were huge in the midst of it, bright masses moving through a churning celestial sea.

Ten minutes later, Lieut. Colonel Ashleigh Traynor, Challenger's chief MACO, pondered the view as she saw it outside the split-level MACO barracks' upper windows on C Deck. Deep, dark eyes scanned the approaching starships, squinting for a view of any names she could make out. She ran a hand through her short, red hair and stepped closer to the window. "This many ships," she murmured, "And I bet them damned Rumulans could still sneak right past us. Just like Berengaria…" Below the windows, her MACOs were still processing ordnance and other gear that had arrived just before Challenger's departure.

Suddenly the hubbub of soldiers at work died away as a door switched open. "Captain on deck!" someone cried out, and all activity ceased as the MACOs came to attention. Traynor looked over her shoulder and caught sight of the captain, pink-streaked blonde hair and everything, step through the hatchway.

"As you were. Colonel Traynor!" Boylan called, and raised a hand in salute. "Thought I'd drop by, see how you folks were getting on."

"Good to see you in the flesh, Skipper," Traynor called back, and returned Boylan's salute. "This a social call, or can we help you with something?" She scooted across the catwalk and hustled down the ladder to the lower level.

"Actually," the captain replied, "I'm here to pick up my sidearm."

Traynor studied the captain's face carefully. Boylan was ex-UESN, she knew that much, but to Traynor it still felt odd to have a Starfleet officer who seemed to think more like a MACO than the star-crazed explorers who usually populated the Fleet. She half-turned and nodded to a bearded MACO with old US Marine tattoos on his well-muscled forearms. "Gunny, get the skipper a phase pistol, would you?"

"Wilco," the old soldier nodded, and made for a nearby storage locker.

"Thigh holster and combat knife too," Boylan quickly added, "if you wouldn't mind."

Traynor arched an eyebrow and nodded to the surprised gunnery sergeant. "Captain Boylan's not your typical Fleeter, Gunny. She won't be treating that phaser like a glorified spray bottle." The sergeant smirked, and soon returned with the requisite items. Boylan lost no time in strapping the holster in place and attaching the knife sheath to the holster's magpoint.

"And that, Colonel," Boylan said smoothly, as she checked the phase pistol's power cell, and slid it into place in the waiting holster, "is why the Rumulans better hope they never meet your battalion. You're the sledgehammer to our spray bottle-wielders." The gunny handed Boylan a PADD with the relevant documentation for the gear, which Boylan promptly thumbprinted and returned.

"Much obliged, Skipper," Traynor nodded. Maybe there were, after all, some Fleeters who deserved a MACO's respect. "If you need us, you know who to call."

"Don't you worry, Traynor," Boylan replied as she turned and stepped toward the door. With one hand on the door control, she turned back to look at Traynor over her shoulder, "Got your folks on speed dial."  
—-

**To**: Ariane Godard  
**From**: Emily J. Boylan, CPT UE-SF  
**Date**: 19 June 2156, 1118 EDT  
**Subject**: For Katie

Ma chère: Please pass this along to Katie, would you?  
-Em

Dear Katie: How'd you like Momma's speech? I had to try so hard to not smile, the pink highlight really surprised people! We're off to work already, but I thought I'd write you and say hello. I don't know how long I'll be out here, but let's work together, okay? I'll keep an eye on the Rumulans out here, and you make sure they stay out of the house. I'm counting on you, honey.  
Give Maman a hug from me. _Je t'aime_!  
-Momma

—-  
**Bridge**

Boylan hit "send" on her message home, then tucked the PADD under the crook of her arm as she strode onto the bridge. From the tactical station, Lieutenant Shepard, the alpha shift officer, noticed her first.

"Captain on deck!" he called out. Almost all glanced in her direction immediately. Stiles, sitting confidently in the command chair, took a moment more. It was obvious that the new XO was going to need a little more time before he lost the chip on his shoulder.

"As you were," Boylan replied, then turned to Stiles as she crossed the bridge. "Commander, thanks for keeping it warm."

Stiles wasted no time in standing up. He gestured curtly to the chair, but then noticed Boylan's new thigh holster.

"Captain, permission to inquire about—"

Boylan's brow furrowed. "No," she said, and held out an open hand as she squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation. She could easily lecture Stiles about the Rumulans, about how when facing an enemy that specialized in surprise attack, subterfuge, and hijacking, it paid to be ready. But it would do no good to make a scene; Captain and XO were supposed to at least try being united.

"Captain," El-Khoury announced, helpfully breaking the tension, "We have an incoming hail from our new escorts: Captain Janeway of the _Appomattox_ and Captain Bateson of the _Repulse_ would both like to speak to you."

"Onscreen, Ensign," Boylan replied, and adjusted her glasses as she turned to the viewscreen. Two older male Starfleet captains, their thinning hair greying with age, appeared on either side of the split viewscreen, each in the middle of a cramped Intrepid-class bridge.

"Captains," Boylan acknowledged, trying her best to cast aside her irritation at Stiles, "Good to see you." Both men acknowledged her greeting with a nod. "Captain Boylan," Janeway spoke first, "It's a relief to have Challenger join us at last."

"Same goes for us, Captain," Bateson added, "Do you have any word on how the attack on Berengaria affects our mission?"

"Not as yet," Boylan reassured them, "but I assume the Admiralty will be in touch on that point soon. Care to join us aboard Challenger this evening for dinner? Perhaps we might talk strategy over some Shrimp Creole."

Both men nodded.

"See you at 1900, then," Boylan said, finally managing a smile. Then she nodded to El-Khoury, who closed the channel. "Hey Stiles," she called to her XO, who was waiting for the turbolift, "That means you too."


	7. Chapter 5

_All hands, this is the captain. Now that we've reached our station, I believe it's time to address what we've all been hearing about on the airwaves. Berengaria has, indeed, been attacked. Casualty reports are still coming in, but it's looking like we got our asses handed to us. Now, I know some of you are looking around at this fleet outside your windows and thinking "why can't we rally and go hunt those bastards down?" Believe me, I'm right there with you. But now, more than ever, we need to be right here, on Earth's doorstep, securing the approach to home. I get the feeling we'll have plenty of chance to pay the Rumulans back. Captain out._

**Aboard UES Challenger**

Five feet two inches of chaotic strawberry blonde energy, Crewman First Class Kennedy Ferris poked her head out the open hatchway and stared up in wonder at the sight that floated overhead.

"Chief? Hey, Chief? You're uh, upside down."

High overhead, Chief Petty Officer Naotaro Mohri tilted his head back, the expression on his bearded face a mix of confusion and amusement.

"Ferris. Wh...What the hell is this place?" His laugh was loud and booming in this tight, enclosed space where gravity apparently had no hold. "One minute I'm looking for the auxiliary gear hold, and then I'm floating on the damn ceiling."

Ferris looked down at her feet, then up at Mohri, then down again at her hands. Curious, she reached up to the hatchway rim and gently pushed off. In a moment her feet passed the hatchway and she was halfway into a slow tumble past Mohri's shoulders. She hit the far bulkhead with a dull thump.

"Whoa," she gaped. Zero-G was nothing new to a Starfleeter, but unless there was an EVA planned, they tended to stay in gravity.

The two hung floating about in silence for a moment before Ferris spoke again.

"So," she said quietly. "You heard the captain. About Berengaria."

Mohri nodded. "Yes. Berengaria."

* * *

**Ready Room**

"Berengaria..."

Boylan sat back from her workstation and sighed at the classified data feed. The First Fleet had just arrived on station, but it didn't have much to defend anymore. The starbase- both the surface facility and its orbital station- was gone. From the looks of it the colony that sustained the surface station was gone too.

The names of lost vessels paraded across her screen in the data feed. _Ethridge. Aldrin. Preble. Cernan. Phedippides. Matsukura_. _Irkutsk_.

"Seventeen hundred people posted or transient," Boylan sighed again, "and all lost." She leaned back in the chair and glanced sidewise at the sandwich that still lay wrapped in wax paper on her desk. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Bacon and cheese in the middle of all hell breaking loose. Sure, why the hell not."

Deftly, she slid it across the table and tore the wrapping away. The toasted bread was still a tad warm to the touch. Eagerly, she took a bite.

"_Bridge to the Captain_."

_Oh sonofa_...

Boylan swallowed the lone mouthful and then jabbed the desktop comm panel with her free hand.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

"_Sorry to interrupt you, ma'am_," El-Khoury's voice piped up from the speaker, "_but Admiral Blair's on Delta 47 channel, priority communication_."

Boylan set down the sandwich, tugged smartly at her jumpsuit, and breathed deeply. "Send it."

Her workstation blinked, and in a moment, Admiral Blair's face appeared in a new window. Once the head of Starfleet's astrophysics division, the admiral now bore a new duty as supervising flag officer of Task Force Resolute. Boylan could see the Golden Gate Bridge's familiar red hue outside the windows behind the admiral's chair.

"Emily," the admiral nodded briskly. "Hell of a speech you gave there."

"Thank you, ma'am," Boylan replied, nervous that there might be a bit of bacon stuck between her teeth. "Figured I'd lay it out plain."

"That you did. Now then, you've seen the data on Berengaria, so this won't come as a total surprise to you. We expect an attempt at breaching our lines, so you're ordered to stand to alert status for the next forty-eight hours. If they do come, you're cleared to engage with all force."

"Roger that, admiral. At once."

Blair nodded. "Give 'em hell, Emily. Blair out." When the channel closed, Boylan stood up, stretched, and hit the comm panel. "Boylan to the bridge. Send to the task force: alert status for 48 hours."

"_Understood_."

Sandwiches could wait. It was time to keep the wolves away.


End file.
